


flower boy

by bloominghwa



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cake, Choi Jongho-centric, Coffee Shops, Flower Language, Flowers, I REPEAT MOSTLY PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS, Jongho Best Boy, Mostly Platonic Relationships, Other, Seonghwa is a mom, a shit ton of flower language, baker!! seonghwa, because i love flowers, dance instructor!! wooyoung, everyone supports jongho !!, florist!! yunho, im not sure, is it angst, jongho is doing his best, may have relationships hinted at, mingi has a bookshop, more of a self discovery than anything, music shop owner!! hongjoong, san works at an antique shop, yeosang is a skater boy, yeosang works at a coffee shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23557858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominghwa/pseuds/bloominghwa
Summary: “you see this one?”  the florist points at a pot in a midst of flowering plants.“which one?”  jongho looks down at where the man is pointing but sees nothing but dirt.“this.”  the other is gesturing at the pot still.“um...” jongho is almost afraid to open his mouth, not wanting to be rude to the person that provided him with hospitality.  “i— i don’t see anything.”“it’s a flower bud,”  the florist declares, almost proudly.  “just like you.  and one day it’ll grow into a beautiful flower.”
Relationships: Choi Jongho & Choi San, Choi Jongho & Everyone, Choi Jongho & Jeong Yunho, Choi Jongho & Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho & Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho & Kim Hongjoong, Choi Jongho & Park Seonghwa, Choi Jongho & Song Mingi, Choi Jongho/Choi San, Choi Jongho/Everyone, Choi Jongho/Jeong Yunho, Choi Jongho/Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho/Kim Hongjoong, Choi Jongho/Park Seonghwa, Choi Jongho/Song Mingi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 87





	1. road not taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisymingi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisymingi/gifts).



> i am BACK after a whole writer’s block that happened after quarantine.
> 
> i hope everyone is safe and doing well, and be sure to not only take care of your physical health but also your mental health !! sending love <33
> 
> and i have way more fics that i hope i can post during quarantine so that everyone can read in case they’re bored so i hope it turns out ok.
> 
> THIS IS FOR LIANN BC I LOVE HER <3

if it were like any normal day, jongho would be coming home from school by now, all dressed in a slightly-wrinkled uniform and beaten-up shoes.

but here he was, hiding in a trash-filled alleyway with fumes smelling like sewage seeping out of gutters under restaurant backdoors.

“where the fuck did the kid go?”

someone is yelling, and he squeezes himself into a smaller ball behind the rotten dumpster. really, he hadn’t meant to be caught up in a gang fight of all things. he was just trying to find a place to stay for the night, but the sounds of commotion just so happened to catch his attention, and a gang member just so happened to have connected with his fist. it wasn’t his fault, really.

“hey, whatever man, we don’t got time for this shit. let’s go find those bastards who stepped foot in our territory!” another voice pipes up, farther away than the first and way more high-pitched.

jongho hears a frustrated growl and a half-hearted “fine” before the clink of hollow metal hitting concrete and footsteps echoing in the alleyway fades back into the sparse streets. he lets go of the breath he’s holding, releasing his legs from their rather painful position. the scratching squeak of the metal pipe against the ground is slowly being dragged out of his ears as his breath slows. sprawling out on the wet cement under him, jongho sighs again, looking up at the thin bit of sky where no early stars could be seen. he’d have to change out of these clothes now, the wet sludge already seeping through the fabric of his jeans. his head hits the back of the dirty alley wall, sliding against the built up whatever that was probably there for years.

it’s getting darker, the sky fading into hues of red and oranges that splash across the horizon. the autumn breeze sweeps through the alley with a force akin to a typhoon and forces him to shrink back into a ball to retain warmth. the wind flattens the wet fabric of his shirt against his skin and he shivers, biting his lips as if it would help him get over the cold. hunger bites deep in his stomach, growling deeply as he tries his best to suppress it.

he sits up, opening the backpack resting on his lap and peering inside. there’s only several granola bars, a pack of gum, and a half-filled bottle of water inside, along with a sweater and an extra set of clothes and underwear rolled neatly along the bottom. picking through the contents of his bag carefully, he pulls out a stick of gum and looks at it. if he rationed his supplies correctly, he could probably last at least a week more without spending any money. it’s getting colder at night too, so eventually he’d have to buy an extra thick jacket or something, maybe even a blanket, as a sweater probably won’t suffice anymore. stuffing the gum into his mouth and tossing the wrapper over his head into the dumpster, he gets onto his feet with the goal of finding a cleaner place to stay.

jongho peeks around the dumpster, scrunching his nose in distaste at the foul smell of fish and other leftovers crawling over the sides of trash bags as he checks for any remaining threats lurking around. spotting only a few students laughing and a couple wandering around on the street ahead, he moves out from the darkness into the greenish glow of the awakening streetlights. a few eyes wander to his dirtied appearance, but soon drifts away as if they had already forgotten him. he scrapes his hand across the brick wall leading outside the alley to get the crawling scent off. also looking down, he makes sure that he doesn’t have any blood or bugs on him, the less attention he receives the lower chance he would have of getting reported to the police.

it’s been long enough for his family to report him as missing, about two weeks or so since he up and ran from home. he wasn’t treated badly or anything, wasn't bullied, wasn’t shunned, hell, he probably was spoiled even, and if he had to pin the reason on why he left, he would say himself.

there was an element of stagnancy that begins to permeate everything he did. waking up no longer feels worth it, and sleeping didn’t help the feeling either. it’s as if he stood still while others were moving forward, but truthfully he doesn’t even know if he’s trying to move forward at all. looking from the beginning of his paved road, he could see everything slowly fading into darkness and the color of ink bleeds into the color palette of the path forward.

even his shadow had overtaken him, and it stands in front of him, painted over with nostalgia, gentle and fleeting and vicious as it looks at him, just barely piercing his dreams and the walls of his room. it stands with nostalgia for a place unknown dripping from its hands, and streaks a foreign feeling of longing across its face. as each day slogs forward and he comes back to the house in his slightly wrinkled uniform and beaten up shoes, the shadow takes a step back further along the path he was told to take with a footprint of nostalgia urging him to follow.

every day the shadow beckons him.

every day it smiles at him in the most friendly manner with longing dripping from between its lips.

and so jongho backs away from the back image of himself and runs.

runs from the stillness that had taken over his life. runs from the noise that gradually grew louder and louder inside his house. runs from his friends, whom he no longer felt like he belonged with. runs from the dark path that becomes presented to him everytime he closes his eyes. runs from the smiling shadow of what he could be if he  _ did what he is told to do _ . and he runs from himself, who he isn’t sure was even real.

now he’s wandering an uneven street with barely enough food or money to keep him alive for even a month.

it’s fine, really, although he thinks he should’ve at least worn a better pair of shoes. after all, there was a new pair of shoes he had stored in his closet for a few months, but he really didn’t want it to get scuffed, so he just left it as is. he even distinctly remembers taking it out when packing and putting it back in the box. thinking back, he probably should’ve just thrown away these old pair of vans anyways, but the memory of every puddle he stepped in and the dirt staining it every time he makes a journey to the river near his house made him hesitate each time.

a buzz comes from his pocket. 

jongho reaches back and feels around under his backpack, looking for the sources. his phone still has a little bit of battery left, to his surprise, and he slides it out from his pocket and checks the time. the screen faintly illuminates his face with the artwork he found online that is currently acting as his lock screen. if he were sentimental, it probably would’ve been pictures of him and his friends laughing and smiling in some unknown setting, or even his family on vacation, posing in front of some historical sites that they didn’t really know the history of.

but jongho isn’t sentimental, and his lock screen is a stranger’s artwork.

the wind howls between the separation of two lines of concrete buildings. he shrugs lightly to adjust his backpack on his shoulders and tucks his chin closer to his chest to block out the cold. the motion doesn’t do much, considering he is wearing a damp t-shirt, but he really didn’t want to dirty his clean sweater. it’s a gift from several years ago: a hand-me-down too big for his body, well-worn and fraying at the sleeves. jongho wears it to sleep every night, even with the situation he’s in right now.

“stupid wind,” jongho mutters to himself as he continues to move towards, away from the slowly filling streets behind him. 

shops are already prepared for the night crowd, adults and children alike slowly swarming the busy shopping strip that he used to hang out in with his friends. he hears people walking to various shops to eat in, talking about scattered pieces of news he missed and gossip that he inadvertently lends an ear to. the crowds are beginning to form around him, grouping into small packs that push around him.

even as he wanders street after street farther away from where he began, jongho begins to wonder whether he could shake off the stillness that follows closely behind.

each street so far has brought him something a little bit new, yet not at all.

jongho saw a homeless man feeding a starving litter of kittens. he saw a belligerent drunk tripping over his shoes as he chased after another man for walking a breath to close. he saw a woman drag another out of the bar and kiss her with vivor under the street lights. he saw a child run into a rich man, who helped him up and bought him sweets. he saw a man confronting a couple in tears and accuse the woman of cheating on him. he saw himself in a puddle after a heavy downpour.

yet there is nothing new.

if anything, he wishes an angel would come down and tell him to go back or something; even that would be fresh and freeing. not that he would listen to said angel, the choice being his own after all, and no higher being is really going to change that. maybe he’d feel surprise and joy from someone seeming to care enough to pray for said angel to bring him back, but he would probably definitely not go back.

his thoughts and breath misting over the air in front of him, jongho shakes away the recurring bite of hunger and feeds himself another stick of gum. that should suffice for dinner tonight, he thinks as his sore feet continue their monotonous steps. the city lights dim behind him as he walks further and further before he eventually hits grass. 

after a moment of stumbling in random holes hidden in the tall grass, jongho manages to steady himself with a tree invisible to his eyes. he’s in a park, he concludes, and it’s becoming dark, but he pushes forward, shoving through bushes and low branches. if he’s lucky, he could probably find a secluded bench that’s unoccupied and settle there, and if he’s even luckier, the bench might be clean. all jongho can think about is wrapping himself in the sweater while tucking in for the night while his stomach mumbles at him.

distantly, he can still hear the regular crowd and the return of the familiar darkened sky. the rustle of branches as the wind dances by conceal the ever-moving city behind him with songs of the shadows. a friendly sigh of the earth that reminds jongho of each thing he’s leaving behind, and he wonders if the cold wind would burn his skin less if he stopped running.

jongho’s eyes adjust to the dark as he continues deeper into the trees, where the streetlights couldn’t even reach anymore. the moon hangs above him and bathes the ground right in front of his feet in a pale green glow and lights his path, albeit dim.

eventually, he finds a bench near the bike park shielded by several evergreen trees. the bench is also close to a little patch of flowers that were probably the remains of a neglected flower garden. it could be described more as a stone slab put together with minimal effort and probably even less brain power, but it looks steady enough for him to sleep on.

jongho drops his bag onto the bench, sighing in relief even as the cold stone seeps through his still damp jeans when he sits down. he pulls off his shirt and grimaces at the fabric sticking to his skin, peeling it away and smelling the slightly dumpster-like smell that clings on but already fading into the clear smell of pine and fresh blooms. draping it on the raised portion of the stone bench and carefully avoiding the intricate spider web hanging in the wind, he unzips his backpack and pulls out his extra shirt and sweater and puts it on with shaking hands.

after adjusting everything and lying down, jongho sighs. it’s already a bit warmer than before, especially now that the wind has stopped blowing. the small clearing is silent save for the buzzing of some insects that thrive at night, and jongho lets himself relax into the hard bed and pillows his head with his hands and backpack. he looks up at the moon and wonders if he would miss this particular section of the sky when he moves on again. letting a hand dangle and brush against the weeds and little flowers that he couldn’t name the names of, he touches a familiar fuzz that brings back bubbling childhood memories.

jongho plucks the dandelion fluff blows, watching the white heads of the seeds float aimlessly against the light of the moon, and his hand curls to a fist under his head.


	2. what still pulls on your soul?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced, the meetings adjourned... the lists laid aside, and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest... what still pulls on your soul? — rumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S LIANN’S BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY <33
> 
> anyways, i was thinking of condensing each member’s interaction with jjongie in one chapter in a total of 8, but i ended up going a bit overboard with this one so i’m figuring out the chaptering right now.
> 
> i’m also not sure about my updates as i’m extremely stressed and tired right now, so i hope whoever’s reading this can forgive me :(

if there’s one compliment jongho could give himself right now, it would be that he’s really, really fucking good at finding himself in almost impossible situations.

he’s so damn good at it that he is completely and utterly  _ lost _ right now. in a fucking  _ forest _ .

standing in a clearing surrounded by trees, he quietly mumbles “eenie miney mo” under his breath, choosing a random direction that he most definitely would not have taken if he really had the choice. 

“just my luck,” he grumbles, pushing through thorny bushes because how the fuck does a forest just pop out out of nowhere in the middle of the fucking city?

a few bushes in and his hands are scraped raw with his fingers almost frozen. the thorns bite at the tender skin of his palms and some burrow themselves deeply into his arms and wrists, but he continues to push forward, biting on his tongue as he feels blood from little cuts on his hands drip down his palms. jongho supposes that he probably should’ve taken the other path and spared himself from the thorns, but he’s pretty sure he saw a spider hanging out on the webs on one of the plants on the other path. so he decides the best thing to do is just letting the song decide his fate.

finally, after destroying every bit of exposed skin he had, he makes it through the prickly path and bursts into the sun. 

oh.

in front of him is some place that looks  _ very _ different from the city. 

jongho would probably know where he is if he could remember the streets his family drove by every once in a while, but everything is hazy now, and he could answer with a certain degree of confidence that he is probably miles from his starting point.

jongho concludes that he’s in the suburbs. or in a more isolated, quiet part of the city. maybe.

ok, so he’s in a different part of the area he is used to, but that doesn’t mean jongho is panicking. he’s a tad bit alarmed, and a little bit afraid, also uncertain if you could add that in the mix, but he is certainly not panicking. 

there’s fortunately no one around him as he moves away from the tree. the unfamiliarity of the place doesn’t feel new, and he peers around carefully in case an unfortunate person happens upon him. jongho knows he looks like he’s been dragged through hell and then dragged back, he’s caught glimpses in the mirrors of the public bathrooms, but he could always pull on the clean sweater he has. maybe it would make him look less like a runaway and more like a rebellious kid with scratches and dirt on his face like some kind of war paint. he pushes the thought back into his head. there’s no way he’s getting the sweater dirty. he’s going to find some restroom in a cafe or something he could use to wash the grime off his face as soon as possible.

jongho rubs at his face self-consciously. the scratches on his palms burn and he grits his teeth as he accidentally brushes against a thorn embedded into the heel of his palm. he’s out of bandaids that he had stored in the pockets of his bag. the first aid kit he brought, a tiny one, had served him well, considering his ability to overpack. most of the time he ended up recycling the same few shirts and never using that face mask he promised he would use.

this time though, jongho had severely underestimated the amount of stupid incidents he would get into, like tripping over his own feet onto a sharp bed of gravel or, just now, pushing through a forest of thorns because there’s a spider in the other path. he didn’t even have any neosporin left to disinfect.

so far the day is going just as he has.

sighing, jongho pushes forward with a rocky determination that refuses to let his feet rest. he needs to find something to take care of his hands (and to wash the god awful dirt off his face), so he looks into the windows of the buildings he passes, hoping to find some magical stock of first aid just waiting for him.

the first is a building that looks like it’s tottering on its foundation. it doesn’t look particularly dirty or anything, but time seems to congregate around the place, beating it with sticks of decay. the flowers lining the front of the store are flourishing and spilling from the plant boxes. the building is old, but it still holds a grandeur. a tragically heroic yet dumb kind of grandeur much like an old king sitting on his throne as his kingdom burns around him. the king is stubborn and refuses to bloom anew, but the strength of staying is what jongho admires.

he moves on.

the next few buildings are dull, simple clothing shops and toy stores that aren’t much different from the first. however, the interior of the buildings are ripe with age, but still flowing along easily with time, the glimpses of shelves and walls a chic classical but yet not weathered at all. the street is basking in the warm afterglow of a setting sun, lining the buildings with gold and filling in the windows with copper. it’s too bright and it hurts jongho’s eyes as he slowly passes by. 

“hey. hey kid!”

jongho heard someone yelling behind him and the telltale slapping of shoes against concrete.

_ fuck. _

ignoring the indescribable pain in his feet and the swelling hunger that roars in his stomach, jongho grips his backpack straps tightly, biting open his lips as the thorn in his palm is pushed deeper, and runs.

“h-hey! wait!”

the voice panics and jongho hears it fade as he sprints farther down the golden street. his breath catches every so often in his throat as he pounds the pavement, biting down harder on his bleeding lip as he feels one of his blisters rub against the inside of his shoe. the buildings pass by in a blur as pain stabs numbly into the soles of his feet and iron bleeds into his tongue. uncertainty is chanting, mumbling that he can’t get caught now. not now, not yet. his ears ring, and the panic screams louder in his head, but he keeps running because he has to get away. he runs and runs and runs until his lungs give out and his throat tastes like raw flesh.

he tunes into the world again, not hearing any running after him. slowing to a jog, he listens, still careful of the possibility of being caught, and turns around.

a whole ass  _ man _ with a bag of groceries is riding a pink, sparkly,  _ streamer-tasseled _ bike and pedaling furiously straight towards him.

the man stops the horrendous bike in front of the jongho with a way-too-cool drift, as if he were on a motorbike, and leans heavily on the handlebars, holding up a finger as he catches his breath. jongho complies; one, because he is absolutely floored at the man’s ability to ride a children’s bike, and two, are those _ training wheels _ ?

“jeez, kid,” the stranger pants, still out of breath. “you run fast. did you steal or something?”

jongho shakes his head, unsure how to reply. his head swirls with the old mantra of  _ don’t talk to strangers  _ while his own thoughts compiles idea after idea of how to defend himself with absolutely no weapon. but even with panic fueling the flames, a twinge of relief worms it’s way into his chest, soothing him that he isn’t recognized, not yet. 

subconsciously, he feels his grip tighten on his backpack straps and something wet and sticky rolling down his palm.

“well, i guess i can only take your word for it, anyway— shit, are you bleeding?”

the other’s eyes widen as he looks in the direction of jongho’s hand, and oh, jongho is bleeding, onto his shirt in fact. jongho groans internally. now he might also get suspected of murder or some form of battery if he happens to get reported to the police. god, when had he ever been worried about being confronted by the law? he isn’t part of the wilder kids he knows, but the thought of seeing a blue-uniformed worker walking down the street now is enough to give him shivers.

“—id, hey kid. you listening to me? let’s get you washed and patched up.”

the man dismounts his bicycle, supporting it against his side as he reaches out to put a hand on jongho’s shoulder. jongho flinches away, but immediately feels a bit guilty when he sees the worry in the other man’s golden eyes. he really didn’t want to follow a stranger that rode a pink bicycle like a maniac to wherever he’s suggesting they go, but a part of his mind tells him to shut the fuck up and think about the consequences of getting his palm infected. he’s pretty sure he could probably just grab a needle from his first aid kit and stab the man in the eye or something if he really needed to, so he agrees.

that, for some reason, seems to be a great relief for the man in front of him (who he notes is shorter, which means jongho might have an upper hand if he needed to escape), and jongho briefly wonders if going with a possible kidnapper-slash-murderer is a good idea after all.

he deduces that he’s too tired to run anymore, so he might as well rest up while walking with this stranger to wherever they are going in case he did need to make a run for it.

unsurprisingly, the walk is silent.

out of habit, jongho feels the childish urge to start a conversation just so the awkward silence would dissipate. he didn’t dislike silence, nor loneliness that hovers quietly next to him, but he hates awkward silences. his logical side tells him that now is not the time to search for human contact, so he stays quiet and observes the uneven path in front of him. the reeling of the gears of the bike fills up the journey, clicking cleanly with each step. 

“so,” the stranger coughs, and jongho is getting increasingly tired of calling him “the stranger” in his head. “um…kid. is it ok if i take you to my store?”

jongho hesitates, taking note of the extreme platinum blonde of the short stranger’s hair, and nods. he renames the stranger “frosty” in his head.

“ah, wait, i need to return this bike.”

jongho looks at him, confused.

“wait, you’re not telling me…you think this is my bike?” frosty looks baffled and amused, stopping momentarily to look at jongho.

jongho looks down, feeling his cheeks heat up at the fact that he is so easy to read.

“i mean, i don’t blame you for thinking this bike is mine. not everyone can have such impeccable taste,” frosty laughs, and jongho really couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “unfortunately, it’s one of the neighbor’s son’s bikes. i’m going to have to return it tomorrow i guess.”

“yeah,” jongho whispers, the orangish glow of the setting sun receding from the tip of his shoe.

the footsteps next to him stops.

“so he speaks,” frosty grins, the glow in his eyes undisturbed. “thought i was going to have to do all the talking.”

jongho grumbles incoherently under his breath, and frosty just laughs again. frosty is very smiley, jongho notes, and weirdly friendly for even talking to him. he doesn’t trust frosty, as he should, but he feels some form of comfort even listening to him. he shouldn’t be so trusting.

“we’re here!”

frosty leans the bike against the smooth walls of one of the shorter buildings. jongho stifles a laugh despite himself, and frosty turns around, tilting his head inquiringly. shaking his head, jongho presses a hand to his mouth to conceal his snicker, but winces immediately when he accidentally presses against the thorn in his hand.

seeming to notice, frosty reaches out to jongho’s hand, but immediately retracts it and instead uses it to gesture jongho to follow him. with no choice but to comply, jongho trails after him, hearing the familiar jingle of keys and a flash of silver as frosty swings them around. 

“welcome to my shop!”

frosty makes a grand gesture as he unlocks the double glass door with a logo emblazoned onto the front. jongho is met with rows after rows of instruments and music books as frosty looks on proudly. a ghost of a hand softly leads him in, carefully guiding him into the warmth of darkness. tentatively takes a few steps forward, jongho could smell the scent of wood and paper filling his nostrils. dust rushes in his nose as he takes a deep breath and he coughs. hearing an ill-concealed laugh coming from the doorway, he turns around, glaring at frosty, who immediately begins to whistle idly and move his eyes somewhere else.

“alright, come here to the back. i think i have a first aid kit and tweezers somewhere.”

jongho complies and follows frosty’s voice blindly into the dark. though he wouldn’t admit it, he really wishes frosty would come back and guide him as he trips over some unseen objects in the dark. just as the lights are flicked on, jongho trips over his own foot, sending him hurtling forward. he braces himself for impact, managing to twist his body, but his shoulder hits the wooden floor hard, and a shock shakes his bones.

“shit! kid, you okay?” 

frosty is by his side in a flash, helping him sit up with his eyes and hands frantic. for a moment, jongho remembers the way his parents used to help him up when he fell over and teased him for being clumsy, but he pushes the thought bitterly back into a crevice in his head. he instinctively flinches away a little from the contact against his skin as he reminds himself that he isn’t in a familiar part of the city anymore. the small warmth emanating from the hand supporting him pulls him down, and he resists, straining every bit of will in his body to shy away from the warmth because it burns. frosty doesn’t do much to hold him down, but eventually jongho tires himself out and leans against the supportive weight.

“don’t call me kid,” jongho grumbles under his breath, an embarrassed rush bleeding into his cheeks.

“then how ‘bout you give me a name, kid,” frosty replies cheekily, a soft, motherly smile dancing on his face.

jongho huffs, straightening abruptly and trying to climb to his feet. trying to balance himself with his hand, he ends up pushing the persistent thorn deeper into his palm and letting out a weird mixture between a groan and a yelp. frosty sighs next to him, much like he used to hear from the living room within his bedroom walls, and grabs his arm, firmly this time, as he pulls jongho up.

“my name is hongjoong.”

frosty puts out after jongho stands fully, eyebrows raised as he asks his silent question again.

“jongho.”

hongjoong nods, his lips quirking as he supports a limping jongho over to a chair. his hand is warm against jongho’s waist, and he gently places a cushion down before letting jongho plop down onto the chair in exhaustion. a wash of shame sweeps over jongho as he lets hongjoong help him sit down, and his eyes follow the other as he makes his way to the back after reassuring jongho he’d find some bandaids.

looking around, jongho ignores the clenching in his stomach and the uncomfortable swirl in his chest as he observes the store that hongjoong brought him to. the store is rather small, but packed to the brim with instruments of all kinds and shelves of vinyls and music sheets.

jongho hobbles upwards despite the protests of his feet, his curiosity prompting him further into the well-kept shelves, pushing past several music stands to the hanging displays. limping, jongho runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the shelf and marvels at each instrument he passes. the flutes glimmer blindingly under the fading sun, the shade of silver reminiscent of a spoon and distorting his reflection the more he stares. its light is harsh and unforgiving, his warped face shifting ever so slightly even as he stands still. he couldn’t even recognize himself. he pushes it to the back of his mind and moves on.   
  


the stringed instruments lay ahead, hanging idly with lovely colors of the sunset shining on the smooth wood. if jongho ignored some of the atrocious designs painted on the guitars, he maybe would’ve teared up. touching the hanging instruments lightly, he thinks briefly about his guitar, an old and boring thing that he loved to play in his free time. he could hear himself (or maybe it wasn’t really him?) whispering the words to a song that he wasn’t even sure he liked as he strums. he remembers that his brother was a much better musician than him. 

even so, something nostalgic prompts him to reach out and pluck one of the strings of the nearest guitar, one with intricate flowers curling on the soundboard, though the sun is too bright for him to figure out what kind. the peaceful hum that leaves the guitar as his fingers brush against the strings shakes him to the core.

“oh, so you’ve found the guitars.”

jongho whips around just to see hongjoong descending from a stairwell he didn’t see when he came into the store. the other is smiling, carrying a case in one hand and cradling a large bottle of amber liquid in the other. 

“you play?” hongjoong asks, friendly face misting over with interest as he puts the items down on the counter with the cash register.

“…yea,” jongho nods, dipping his head as he slowly removes his hand from the guitar.

he really didn’t. 

not anymore at least. he hadn’t touched it much before he left. 

if jongho is really honest with himself, it’s been several years since he touched it, and everytime he picks it up, he feels dirtied by some sort of perverted happiness overtaking him and stores it away again with a cloud of guilt surrounding him. a swell of longing chokes him up as he limps back over to hongjoong.

hongjoong doesn’t say anything as jongho sits down again, only smiling lightly as he carefully kneels and lifts jongho’s arm. using a warm towel, he carefully wipes dirt from each individual cut, going over the lacerations gently and stopping once every few seconds as jongho flinches harshly. jongho feels guilt swallowing up his insides as he watches hongjoong work. as if he hadn’t caused enough trouble already.

the sun is almost set fully as the pair sit in the quiet store, lights dim and haunting, but peaceful yet the same. hongjoong’s hair is less blinding now as the gold recedes out the door and is replaced with the yellow of the fluorescent led lights, and jongho smiles a little as he realized that it fit the man really well, the soft tone complimenting the sharp features of his face. 

honestly, if jongho had seen hongjoong walking down the street, he would have avoided the man at all costs, the other having an air of some kind of regality and intimidation to him. maybe it was the multiple piercings that gleams whenever he tilts his head, or the underlying wisdom that didn’t seem to fit his age, but it didn’t matter much now.

“hey jongho,” hongjoong speaks, and jongho jumps a little in his seat. 

“so i might’ve ran out of rubbing alcohol, so i’m going to have to use some of my whiskey to disinfect. that okay?”

nevermind. hongjoong is fully insane and jongho should’ve just ran when he had the chance.

“you want to what?!”

“whiskey.” hongjoong points at the glass bottle.

“on your wounds.” he moves his fingers so that he is pointing at the arm he is cleaning.

“i’m not stupid, i know what you’re talking about,” jongho hisses, pulling the arm in hongjoong’s hands towards himself, “no way!”

hongjoong huffs, crossing his arms as he rocks back onto his feet. jongho is beginning to wonder where he found the spark of wisdom in the other.

“jongho.” oh, hongjoong voice is flat and firm now. “i need to disinfect your wounds. don’t be a child.”

at this point, jongho would’ve definitely thrown in the towel and whine that he  _ is _ a child and there’s no way he wanted to smell like whiskey on the streets. he’s fucking underage for god’s sake, and he didn’t want the police to have another reason to chase after him. there’s no way in hell he’s sensitive to pain, but he hated the burn of normal alcohol against his skin. weighing his options, he’d much rather shed the quiet impression he left hongjoong and replace it with one of a bratty kid. anything to not let the alcohol touch his skin.

“no,” he harrumphs, even stamping his foot a little to his regret.

hongjoong sighs and a prickle of guilt stabs at the blisters on jongho’s feet, but he just crosses his arms (gingerly, of course, his cuts hurt) and turns his head to the side.

“you are absolutely unbelievable,” hongjoong states flatly, and that’s all the warning jongho gets before a cotton pad is slapped onto one of the deeper cuts that ran along his arm, “and you’re terrible at acting.”

jongho lets out an embarrassing yelp, but bites down on his lip as hongjoong rubs the whiskey-covered cotton pad against the other cuts in his arm with not much resistance. if hongjoong’s sneak attack didn’t tick him off, the supportive smile that he wears while pressing down on jongho’s cuts sure did.

jongho is not a child, and he refuses to be babied and pitied by an utter stranger. oh, he’ll show this hongjoong how tough he can be—

“ow, ow, ow!”

the set of tweezers held by the accursed hongjoong had prodded at the thorn in his hand and to say that it fucking hurts is an understatment. fortunately, they are immediately drawn away as soon as the first “ow” left jongho’s mouth. so maybe hongjoong wasn’t that bad.

hongjoong’s eyes are soft as they look up at jongho, and it takes every fiber of his being to not think back to when his own mother had tended to his multiple scratches. jongho hadn’t missed the house back in the middle of the foggy city, and he isn’t going to start missing it now.

“it’s going to hurt a little—well, no, it’s definitely going to hurt like hell—but it’ll be quick. i promise,” hongjoong reassures him.

and jongho feels like he is talking to an adult. as an adult. and it feels good.

the shadow of himself that he is running from is dissipated by the sun for a moment and he could see where he is going. finally, after what felt like forever, he can catch a glimpse of the grass that he is walking on, and it is beautiful. it’s beautiful and delicate and so abundant, but as quickly as jongho sees the emerald green under the fleeting sunlight, the darkness that overtakes him immediately fills in.

hongjoong is still waiting for him to reply with his hand still clutching the tweezers and his eyes still inquiring. in a moment of self-consciousness, jongho wonders if he stared, but then he reminds himself that he’s probably never going to see hongjoong again. and for some reason, it sends a spike of longing into his throat.

“yea, just…just pull it out or whatever. i’m not scared.”

a bark of ugly laughter comes from the other as he nods, squeezing jongho’s wrist as a type of assurance before getting to work. jongho huffs and tenses as the cold metal of the tweezers inches closer and closer to the goddamn thorn.

“three…two…”

“don’t count down just—”

jongho isn’t able to finish his sentence before hongjoong (the  _ jerk _ ) yanks out the thorn.

if he has any dignity left, jongho would really, really love to punch something right now, or himself, but his hands hurt, and he’s already embarrassed himself in front of hongjoong enough already, so he just breathes deeply and tries to tune into those stupid meditation videos that his friends used to send him.

“sorry kid.” hongjoong cringes with a little chuckle, “had to distract you.”

“seriously,” jongho snorts, still wincing and trying his best not to have his nerves fire out a scream, “i told you my name already.”

“force of habit.” hongjoong shrugs, smiling easily.

it goes back to silence again as hongjoong carefully runs a clean cotton pad doused in whisky over the puncture, stopping whenever jongho flinches just a bit too violently. by this point, jongho thinks he’s bitten through his lip already.

eventually, the sun sets fully and the lights of the city outside bleeds through the white curtains that are tied up next to the windows in the front of the store. hongjoong has fully cleaned jongho’s cuts and wrapped them up with an excessive amount of gauze, running out in the middle and patching the rest of him up with multicolored bandaids with various cartoon patterns on them. the mirror in the corner of the store conveniently displays jongho’s pathetic, somewhat mummified look while hongjoong looks on proudly at his work. jongho didn’t want to be rude, so he just plays with a loose piece of gauze that hasn’t been properly taped down.

“hey jjong, i didn’t expect it to take that long, but it’s late. you want to stay the night?”

jongho looks at hongjoong from his seat, surprised. “i— i, uh—”

“you won’t disturb me if that’s what you’re thinking, and i would enjoy some company. but if you don’t want to, that’s okay too.”

and after a moment of thought.

“i won’t do anything creepy, i promise. it’s just that it’s cold out and—”

jongho is annoyed at himself for being so trusting. he doesn’t know if hongjoong is proficient in acting and he uses this to lure unsuspecting strangers into his home and killing them, but there’s something innocent and genuinely kindhearted in every action and word the other puts out. plus, jongho hadn’t bought that extra jacket he noted down a while ago, fearing it would weigh him down. curse his weak will. 

“i—i mean i guess,” jongho stammers, still shocked at the utter blantancy of trust hongjoong put in him.

hongjoong smiles easily at him, not like the tight-lipped grins that his teachers put on whenever he walks into class. he knows nothing about jongho. not why jongho’s here, or why he looks so beaten up, or even if he was going to steal or murder him. but he still patches jongho up (although terribly) and treats him so kindly, going as far as welcoming him to stay in his house. 

jongho knows nothing either, yet the tug in his stomach tells him that hongjoong is not a bad guy. insane, maybe, but something about the way he speaks exudes flat truth and wisdom, the weird kind that jongho can’t imitate no matter how much he tried.

in full, hongjoong is stupid. but so is jongho.

“sweet,” hongjoong grins, clapping his hands together in joy. “well, let’s go.”

jongho nods and stands, still a little shaky with the amount of popped and rubbed blisters littering his feet. he begins to hobble towards the storefront, leading the way ahead as he assumes, but a hand grabs him before he could move any further.

“up here.”

hongjoong pulls him towards the stairwell that he descended from when he first grabbed the medical supplies without another word, and jongho flushes in embarrassment but does his best to follow the other up.

a painted black door stands at the top of the staircase and hongjoong opens it without a second of hesitation.

it’s spacious. more spacious than what jongho would perceive an apartment-esque floor to be.

“why are there chip bags all over the floor?”

maybe not the best thing jongho could say when hongjoong provided an excessive amount of hospitality.

“um— i-it was my friends,” hongjoong replies a beat too fast. “i swear.”

he looks sheepish as he rushes in and swoops around at almost an inhuman speed to collect all the wrappers on the ground while leaving jongho to stand at the doorway. if jongho wasn’t so tired, he would’ve laughed like he normally did and helped out, but he just stays by the doorway and waits.

“you can come in, you know, i already invited you over.”

looking towards hongjoong, jongho sees him looking over his shoulder mid-bend and reaching blindly for a chip bag to add into the growing pile crumpled against his arm.

_ should he help? he feels like he should help. why isn’t he moving? distrust? uncertainty? or is it fear? _

“kid, if you’re going to stand there instead of sitting on a chair you might as well help me out,” hongjoong calls over his shoulder as he heads into a dark hall. 

his voice echoes a little, and jongho is briefly brought back to his room in his house. he used to sing alone, when every member of the family is out. it would be in front of a bunch of papers and homework that seems to pile on his normally organized desk. his voice kind of echoes like that.

“jjong? you good?”

jongho jolts and almost falls face flat to the floor. hongjoong never fails to surprise him.

“yeah, um, i could help.”

“nah, it’s ok, you should rest. i’ll go get some blankets, don’t strain yourself too much.”

hongjoong doesn’t ask if he needs assistance to get to the couch, and jongho smiles shyly, hopefully able to present the gratefulness he feels to the other. hongjoong smiles back, the warm yellow lights in the room making the chill that had set deep into jongho’s bones melt a little.

“go ahead and lay down, i already turned the couch into a bed. if it’s not comfortable feel free to come to my room.”

jongho really wants to punch himself for feeling so safe whenever hongjoong spoke. he scratches his cheeks and feels the dirt collect under his too-long fingernails. disgust begins to broil in his stomach as he thinks about how he must look still: dirtied and just vile.

“c-can i use the shower first?”

he feels stupid. stupid for even asking for more when he is imposing on hongjoong. 

“sure! do you want me to rewrap you after?”

hongjoong looks surprised, freezing a little as he collects multiple cans from the ground, but his response is chipper and without hesitation. jongho wonders if he really looks that bad.

“it’s fine, i was watching when you did it,” jongho answers, shuffling a little on his feet.

“alright, i’ll go grab some clothes and a towel for you. the bathroom is down that hall and the lights are by the entrance, feel free to use my lovely array of soaps and shampoos.”

hongjoong sends a playful wink toward jongho as he tosses the abundant amount of coffee cans and energy drinks into a bag and tying it up.

“okay,” jongho replies, and a little bit quieter. “thanks.”

humming, hongjoong just tilts his head a little and goes back to cleaning. jongho takes this as his cue to shower, clean up his dirty footprints and possible stink that hongjoong unfortunately had to endure. 

he strips down as soon as he drops his bag onto the floor, avoiding the gigantic mirror in front of him part in fear and part in disgust. he doesn’t know what he would see, himself, or the same sunken eyes and black path that he always sees in his own bathroom. his hair is matted and greasy, some clumps chock full of dirt and unidentified grime. deep down, he breathes a sigh of relief at his refusal to pull out his sweater to retain some of his dignity.

under the water, jongho feels grit sliding off of him in the form of sludge and shudders with disgust. deep black and browns slither down his legs in curving patterns as he stares at his sore feet, and he feels the heat of the water breathe warmth into his toes again. tilting his head back, he lets the water from the shower head beat away the bloodied dirt from his face, the sound drumming against his head and sounding like rain falling against a window. his window. in the bright, stuffy room that he had lost the energy to clean. 

going back to his room, he doesn’t think he ever found solace, even if it was a room that he personalized and was given the ability to do whatever he wanted to do in it. the room is just so…square, so set and unable to change. it’s equal parts empty and suffocating, the blank walls pressing in on him constantly. jongho thinks about the polaroids that he could’ve taped up and the colors that he could’ve used instead of white.

the sound of rain thuds against his head as he lathers on hongjoong’s apple-scented shampoo.

jongho finishes scrubbing the shell of mud off his body and exits the shower. a neatly folded pile of clothes lay next to the sink with a towel covering it when he pulls away the shower curtain. he softens a little. he could just imagine hongjoong’s smile as he snuck in and put it out.

he half-expects the other to pop out when he exits the bathroom and looks around while drying his hair with the towel, but hongjoong is nowhere to be seen. it’s quiet as jongho walks to the living room and sits down to rewrap himself with the gauze he took off before his shower. the silence that used to accompany him like a watchful dog now surrounds him like a pack of wolves. a trickle of loneliness slides down his bones as he sits and waits for something, anything, watching the lamp beside him flicker every so often. 

jongho looks around again. 

noticing a fresh box of cartoon-themed bandages, he breathes easier, the silence retreating back into a familiar, panting face and loneliness sitting beside him again. he reassures himself that the other is probably taking a shower too and begins to carefully wrap the gauze around his arm. 

freshly gauzed up and finally lighter from the weight of everything that was on him. he lays down on the bare couch, the fabric scratching lightly against his exposed skin. shivering a little, he curls up onto a single seat, pressing his icy hands to his chest and feeling his own breathing against his collarbones. the shirt is a bit loose on his frame and the sweatpants flare around his thighs. he ignores the growling in his stomach.

as his hazy mind begins to drift off, jongho feels a dip in the couch next to his legs. gentle hands unfurls him and something thick and warm covers his body, the corners tucked so that not a shred of cold air could penetrate it. his head is lifted and placed on something soft, and he falls asleep with the feeling of a hand gently ruffling his hair.

he forgets to wear his sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @bloominghwas if you want <3


	3. a song for the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “you sound like an inspirational poster they sell at dollar stores.”
> 
> “that’s how life is,” hongjoong shrugs, letting out an easy laugh as he slumps back into his seat. “a bunch of shitty inspirational posters that they try to sell you for a dollar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i think i have gotten over some of my writer’s block so i’ll hopefully update more regularly before school starts up again. anyways, i hope everyone’s doing ok and staying safe <3 thank you for reading this.

a clatter pans and plates jerks jongho awake in a panic.

he lurches upward at a particularly loud bang, but the pounding in his chest is immediately quelled after looking directly into the sun, and he hisses in pain as he throws himself back onto the couch and buries his head under the duvet. a mistake on his part as his muscles felt like they were tearing apart with each move he makes, and he lets out a muted groan as his sore thighs stretch out and his back cracks at multiple points. Curling his toes as he finally relaxes back into the couch, jongho peeks his head out again after the white splotches in his vision vanishes, only to hear more clanging. 

jongho hasn’t heard that sound in a while, and honestly it sounds like a whole construction operation is happening in the living room. groaning and turning to face the couch and subconsciously noting the soft tan color with a blurry film that doesn’t seem to leave his vision, his hands go up to cover his ears as the sound of metal against metal crashes again somewhere in the vicinity.

it doesn’t stop even after a few minutes and jongho is positively concerned now, and although he is tired, he couldn’t fall back asleep again, with the racket and the sun making its presence known by blasting its image into his eyes. 

seriously, who the fuck throws open the curtains at any point in the morning?

he sits up, rubbing at his eyes as his mouth opens in a yawn. it’s really been a while since he slept that well, and on something that was soft. the first time in a while since he felt warm. maybe he should miss his bed a little more, but he cringes at the memory of the weird twangy noise that comes from the mattress every time he shifts his body.

“morning, sunshine,” hongjoong’s voice singsongs some distance away, punctuated by another clatter. “breakfast will be ready soon…hopefully.”

jongho turns to the noises, realizing it came from over the divide that he didn’t see yesterday. although it pretty much obscured his vision from anything happening, he tries his best to extend his neck as far as he can to peer over it. he could catch glimpses of the platinum blonde tufts of hair rushing around and a fridge and multiple customized cupboard doors from his position on the couch, along with what looks like a neon yellow potato standing straight up—

“uh…whenever you’re ready, feel free to come to the kitchen,” his host is calling over the sound of multiple things crashing together and the overbearing sizzling of too much oil in a pan. 

jongho gives off a noise of discontentment and drops back onto the couch, his arm flopping over his eyes in an attempt to block out the sun, but another impact on the floor sends him flying straight up and stumbling to the kitchen. 

“ah, you’re here.” hongjoong is standing in the middle of the so-called kitchen balancing one too many plates to be considered safe. “thank fuck.”

his lips are curling in what could be interpreted as a smile, but it looks like an embarrassed grimace more than anything. jongho is sure his jaw drops as he takes in the scene, seeing the eggs on the verge of burning on the stove top with copious amounts of black smoke spilling from the pan and the toaster steaming with a weird crackling sound coming from it. 

“what the hell!?” he exclaims as he rushes forward just in time to catch a bowl that tips off of hongjoong’s finger tips.

“look, mister,” hongjoong huffs, all childlike even when balancing two plates and bowls in an awkward stance. “i’m doing my best here! haven’t cooked since high school, could really show some sympathy for this guy.”

“you look like you haven’t cooked your entire life,” jongho mumbles under his breath as he sets the bowl down on the counter and scrambles for the burning eggs. “how the fuck do you burn eggs?”

“i heard that,” hongjoong snaps, shocking jongho a little as he almost tips the pan over. 

instead, jongho only smacks the bottom harshly against the stovetop and quickly straightens naturally as if nothing had happened. 

“s-sorry?” he bleets out, unsure if he’s apologizing for being too comfortable in his moment of drowsiness or for possibly denting his host’s pan.

he does his best to bring back his focus to the task at hand, moving the spatula awkwardly between the black chunks as if it could miraculously turn back into a somewhat eggy color. bracing himself for hongjoong to say anything, he moves his arms aimlessly in front of him, pretending to stir around the eggs in an attempt to save them. he could feel hongjoong’s gaze wash over him for a brief second. 

“did you know i was called the rice overlord back then?”

“…what?”

“yeah i know, dumbest name. but trust me when i say i was the food god in our entire school.” 

hongjoong proceeds to go off on a tangent about how he made some lunch for his best friends who would rave about his cooking to other people and then basically kickstarting a lunch-making business for him.

jongho tunes him out while desperately trying to save the already-charred eggs fruitlessly. he sighs, giving up when a final cloud of black smoke bursts in his face and walks over to the trash can to scrape the blackened chunks off the pan while hongjoong still rambles on with large gestures. 

as he picks at a particularly stubborn chunk, he couldn’t help but listen in on hongjoong’s story, feeling his chest warm a little as he watches the shorter man’s legs dangle from the counter top. the kitchen isn’t even touched by the morning sun yet, but a fascinating glow seems to illuminate the small space. for a space that isn’t much smaller than jongho is used to back at his house, it feels way less empty. but jongho isn’t sure if it’s because of the clutter of stuff piled in every corner of the room or because of hongjoong’s bright smile.

“so,” hongjoong starts as jongho shuffles towards the fridge and debates asking if he could redo the eggs. “jongho, tell me about yourself.”

jongho freezes, opening and closing his mouth stupidly like a fish, all while holding a blackened frying pan with his entire side pressed up against the fridge. “um-”

“hey, hey,” hongjoong quickly adds, hugging one leg to his chest as he leans forward with a pacifying gaze. “not anything important if that’s what you’re thinking. just…like your favorite color or something. mine’s red and yellow.”

“m-mine’s red too?” jongho curses himself for stammering. “but like, black is also great. i guess.”

“ooo,” hongjoong says, actually seeming interested in what jongho’s goddamn favorite  _ colors _ are. “bold. would make a great painting.”

he jumps off the counter and walks over to where jongho is still standing in front of the fridge, cracking it open and handing him two eggs after some blind searching. 

a weird jumbled noise comes out of jongho’s mouth that he hopes conveys his thanks. he imagines smacking himself on the forehead with the frying pan and beating some sense of coolness into his head, but he decides that it wouldn’t be very cool to do any of that so he instead just waddles over to the stove and starts making the eggs again.

“favorite food?” hongjoong questions again after settling to the side to watch jongho work.

“um, i don’t know,” jongho replies, feeling heat climbing on his cheeks as he watches the eggs intently, making sure not to make eye contact. “everything?”

“mm, nice. meat is really where it’s at though.” 

jongho hums in agreement, letting out a breath of relief for some odd reason. the eggs sit pristinely in the pan sizzling quietly as a comfortable silence settles between them. hongjoong begins to lightly hum a tune as he moves away, reaching for some plates and cups in the cabinet and walking to a small table set right before the divide.

“so, i was going to ask this question yesterday actually,” hongjoong says as he casually opens a drawer to grab some utensils. “how is it you got so bruised up? and i’ve never seen you around here before either.”

right. that question was bound to come up some time anyways, thinly veiled or not, and jongho knows that. that being said, he is in no way equipped to answer the question because even  _ he _ doesn’t know how the hell he got here or how he’s gotten so beaten up. on the contrary, asking hongjoong why the fuck he decided to run away might even give him a better answer at this point. 

so instead he just pokes at the eggs and hopes that hongjoong will move on.

his silence must have meant something else to hongjoong, who immediately begins patching up his question instead.

“not that i’m asking where you live or anything…or…yeah…but i mean if you need anything, maybe i can help?”

for all the eloquence that radiated off of hongjoong, the badly patched curiosity both irks jongho and makes him want to laugh. 

hongjoong is kind and warm and very, very stupid. to a level that still baffles jongho whenever he thinks about it.

he invited a cut up, dirty teenager over and provided shelter and care without much thought, and for all hongjoong knew, jongho could very much be a gang member or a escaping criminal. but now he’s offering something more? they are strangers; even though whether jongho liked to admit it or not, it feels like they bonded way faster than jongho had with anyone. maybe hongjoong is the psychopath.

“i—” jongho coughs, pushing any more intruding ideas out. “it’s fine. i’m actually from the middle of the city, and um, kinda ran through a forest on the way here?”

hongjoong suddenly looks a lot more concerned than he was a second ago, with his eyebrows essentially connecting in the middle of his forehead from how hard he’s frowning. 

“ran? is everything okay? do i need to call—”

“no! it’s um, fine. not running from someone…yeah.” 

jongho winces a little and could feel hongjoong observing him again. “…ok.”

the older doesn’t push on though, instead humming again, this time a hiphop tune with added sound effects from his lips as he begins to rap quietly. jongho has to stop himself from smiling as he moves around hongjoong to dump the eggs onto their respective plates. before long, he begins to nod his head to the beat too, humming in harmony with hongjoong’s rap. 

when he starts, hongjoong’s hand pauses mid motion when putting toast on their plates. there is a brief stutter in his verse as he openly stares at jongho, but it takes only a beat before he smiles and continues to hum along without messing up the unknown melody at all. embarrassment begins to fill jongho’s cheeks again as he shuffles away to put the pan in the sink.

“aw, don’t stop,” laughs the older as he dances around the table to his seat. “you have a beautiful voice, kid. keep singing.”

jongho flushes deeper, not knowing how to respond and instead just shaking his head a little, settling down in front of hongjoong who’s already biting into his toast.

“no really! i can see the headlines already, ‘newbie singer takes over the world with his voice’. doesn’t that sound nice?” god, hongjoong is practically spitting his food out in excitement.

“the singer can be anybody though,” jongho comments quietly carefully balancing his misshapen egg on his fork as he tries to transfer it onto the bread.

“exactly,” hongjoong says, mouth still full and leaning his face close into jongho with shining eyes. “anybody who is willing to make it happen.”

“you sound like an inspirational poster they sell at dollar stores.”

“that’s how life is,” hongjoong shrugs, letting out an easy laugh as he slumps back into his seat. “a bunch of shitty inspirational posters that they try to sell you for a dollar.”

“ah, well… that’s depressing,” jongho manages as he takes another small bite of his already half eaten sandwich. he didn’t know he was that hungry.

“hm, maybe,” hongjoong hums with a mysterious smile as he stands. “coffee?”

he ends up helping hongjoong open the store, opening the curtains to a much livelier street and dusting the places hongjoong couldn’t quite reach even with a stepladder. the older stumbles around with heavy boxes packed to the brim with both pristine albums from uprising idol groups and older cds that paint nostalgia with their covers. if jongho could put it in a way, it’s like time passes over hongjoong’s shop, leaving precious mementos as each period flows on. hongjoong with his stupidly knowing smile and too-caring heart is a wormhole in an unassuming corner of the city, and jongho doesn’t know if he should be afraid or not.

“so, jjong.” the nickname that hongjoong had adopted so quickly rings through the store. “as your new employer for the day, i’m going to need to know more about you.”

“we talked about me thirty minutes ago…” jongho retorts with no barbs in his words at all.

“nothing wrong with learning more about my new, temporary employee. it’s like a no strings attached relationship y'know?” hongjoong’s face is lit up by the sun as he grins playfully, his skin flushing golden with the first rays of a still-rather-early morning.

jongho may be an atheist but hongjoong sure as hell looks like something akin to a higher being right now.

“i’m assuming you do music, judging by the way you looked at the guitars yesterday,” hongjoong prattles on, moving to shelve the “new release” display near the front of the store where jongho is dusting. “which, by the way, you were  _ not _ supposed to touch, but you’re cute so i’ll let it pass.”

“i am not cute,” grumbles jongho while clambering down the stepladder. “and i do— i did do music.”

“sweet!” hongjoong’s exclaims as he stands and drops the box against the ground harshly with a blinding smile. “let’s hear you play!”

“what? no! isn’t the store supposed to be open now?”

“i’m the owner. i do what i want, jjongie.” an infuriating smile once again lights up hongjoong’s face.

the emotion surging in jongho’s chest as he looks back at the older with mock annoyance is…different.

it takes moments to realize that this feeling is  _ new _ . it’s the feeling thought up at the dead of night where all you want to do is run out into the street and look at the stars, maybe breaking a few laws on the way. the feeling of going out in the deep night to set fireworks to light up the sky with the car radio bumping out music that shakes the earth under your feet. the feeling of watching calm waves against the cliff that you are moments away from jumping off of. the feeling of building a fire and toasting marshmallows in the middle of nowhere with the sound of laughter as company. it’s exhilarating. it’s  _ freedom _ .

“i’ll pay you to play,” hongjoong suggests, after whining and shaking jongho relentlessly (yet gently) didn’t work.

“don’t pity me.” 

“i’m not. it's like you’re a singer, and i’m paying for a concert.”

if there’s one thing jongho hates more than anything right now, it’s hongjoong’s fucking suggestive eyebrows and smartass smirk.

“…fine.”

he needs the money. not because he wants to play, nor is it the way hongjoong’s invitation is just so tempting especially since they are in a music store; jongho doesn’t even know the last time he walked into a music store. it’s definitely not the way he liked to see hongjoong’s approving smile even though they are still straddling the edge of complete strangers and maybe acquaintances. whatever reason made him agree impulsively, it’s because he  _ needs the money _ . nothing else.

hongjoong seems to know the power of his persuasion because not even half a second after jongho’s response, he pulls out a guitar from behind his back, the same one that jongho touched yesterday with the swirling flowers etched into the smooth face.

“w-what song?” he feels himself get hot as hongjoong stares in confusion at him and has to adjust himself as he sits down on the top of the stepladder. “i mean, what song do you want me to play?”

“i don’t want you to play just a random song. just feel it,” hongjoong says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “like during breakfast.”

jongho chokes on his spit when he hears about the whole breakfast situation. honestly he was hoping hongjoong already forgot about it even if it was not even that long ago.

“that’s…but you started off with a melody though.”

“fine, i’ll play something and you go off on it okay?”

jongho nods agreeably, feeling his fingers already thrumming when he touched the guitar, but also a biting sense of guilt. and a shit load of envy as hongjoong easily takes the guitar and positions himself on one of the steps of the stepladder. 

a soft hum left the blond’s lips as he plucks at the strings experimentally, and jongho is already struck by the nostalgic sound of the guitar strings. he only remembers the sound of his guitar snapping and twanging as he broke it on a wall. 

he remembers how the world got dimmer as he slept with his back facing the broken pieces that he used to adore and cherish, and how he picked up the painted pieces of his guitar the next morning and put it in a plastic trash bag and told his brother that he accidentally broke a flashlight.

in the midst of his own memories, hongjoong starts to play a few notes, a clear melody already blooming and spreading into the etched flowers on the body.

a vibrant echo begins to hum in his ears and suddenly jongho can see.

splashing out in front of him is a field of flowers sweeping in the wind. the fucking god forsaken path is still there in the distance, taunting him, but he’s standing an ocean of soft grass and an unfamiliar night sky. a sudden gust of wind sweeps up petals and leaves and swirls around him, playing with his hair and teasing his exposed skin as he looks up, whispering a song that he has never heard before as it passes. it’s like a scene straight out of those studio ghibli movies that jongho used to marathon alone and by god, does he want to stand here forever. it doesn’t take long for the vignette appearing at the edge of his vision to start overcoming his sight again, but for a brief second, jongho could see a few stars twinkling above him.

“alright, your turn.”

just as quickly as the field appeared in his vision, he’s once more brought back.

“sure.” jongho feels his fingernails dig into his bandaged palm, but as hongjoong makes a sound of excitement punctuated with a hearty tap to the guitar’s body, his hand loosens.

the guitar is heavy as the older passes it over to him. he looks up at hongjoong, his lip caught between his teeth out of habit, and the other smiles reassuringly, reaching up to tap jongho lightly on the forehead.

“you got this.” hongjoong smiles too much.

he looks down at the guitar, his fingers hovering over the strings and shaking like how he expected an absolute fucking coward’s would. with a deep inhale, he begins to play.

it’s not good; an expected result of years of negligence. his fingers feel clumsy as they move around the strings, trying to coordinate with each other properly. a stray note twangs in the middle of his surprisingly smooth continuation of hongjoong’s song, and he winces, hands almost flying off the guitar. hongjoong lets out an amused laugh and jongho glares at him, but the small glimmer of assurance that is somehow ever-present in those eyes manages to quell some of the nonexistent annoyance anyways.

he hesitantly goes back at it again, maneuvering around carefully with his huge ass sausage fingers that he grew in the span of a second. it’s coming more naturally and he eventually manages to create a mediocre but acceptable melody that doesn’t stop short every few verses. jongho hates it, but hongjoong’s eyes are narrowed in apparent satisfaction, like a really, really blond cat; so jongho’s okay with it.

when he finishes, hongjoong is immediately on his feet, half of it dangling precariously off the side of the ladder as he whoops and cheers as one would at a concert.

“you’re embarrassing,” jongho blurts out, unable to hold back the comment as he watches hongjoong’s feet carefully.

“i’m your embarrassment now,” hongjoong responds lightheartedly with a cackle that sounded way more eerie than his words. “it was really good though! i fucking knew it!”

“just say it’s bad and leave,” groans jongho as he slumps back, almost falling off the small perch but managing to lean his back against the shelf.

“one, this is my store, so no, and two, it’s not the worst i’ve heard.”

“so it was bad.”

“well, the technique is rusty,” hongjoong admits, “but you look like you enjoyed it.”

“i didn’t.”

hongjoong ignores him, propping his chin onto jongho’s knee as he traces over the etched flowers in the guitar.

“you know what flower this is?”

jongho looks down at the pattern, the lacquered surface blinding as it reflects the sun. the flowers that swirl along the sound hole looks realistic, like if he ran a finger over it, a petal would end up falling to the ground.

“not…really?”

“well,” hongjoong says, “it’s irises. pretty isn’t it?”

jongho nods, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to figure out why hongjoong is asking him these questions. hongjoong pays him no mind.

“you know the language of flowers?”

“um, kinda?”

“no you don’t,” hongjoong teases, smile stretching across his face as jongho glares at him again. “each flower has its own unique meaning, as does a word. it’s basically just another language, but shown physically rather than spoken out.”

“o…kay?”

“and so this guitar is now yours.”

“what?”

“you touch it, you own it,” hongjoong shrugs as he climbs off the ladder.

“h-hey, wait a minute!” oh my god jongho met a scammer. “you can’t do that!”

“my store, my rules,” hongjoong cackles as he picks up the empty boxes he dropped in a pile and walks to the back of the store. “it’s yours now.”

“i don’t have money!”

“didn’t say you had to pay for it, kiddo.”

“what?” so hongjoong isn’t a scammer, but insane, as jongho pretty much established yesterday. but somehow the older keeps finding more ways to surprise him again. 

“yup, it’s yours now. i did say i’ll pay you to play a song, and kim hongjoong never goes back on his promises.”

kim hongjoong is lame. but jongho might be on the same level of lame since a creeping feeling of warmth crawls in between his ribs and curls up comfortably in a weirdly hongjoong shaped hole he didn’t even know he had.

he slaps himself on the cheek. not only did he stay over at a stranger’s and trusted said stranger not to sell his organs or something, but he is currently getting more attached by the second like a fucking idiot. for all he knew the guitar probably had those tracking devices like he’s seen in those movies, and the moment he least expects it, he’s going to get pushed into a random car and end up with his kidneys scooped out.

“i can hear you thinking from here. what’s up?” hongjoong reappears with a pair of glasses perched on his nose, a innocent accessory compared to his array of earrings and a chain around his neck and on his belt.

“nothing,” jongho answers immediately. “just…why?”

“i mean, there’s so many uses,” hongjoong says matter-of-factly, dusting off his very grunge clothes. it’s like he jumped out of pinterest or something. “like you know you could play it when you’re sad and need some company, or for money if you do run into that issue. or hypothetically if it comes to that, a blow to the head from this baby can knock someone out.”

makes sense.

“thanks.” 

that’s the only response jongho can come up with without over-complicating what he wanted to say. fortunately, it seems enough as hongjoong just chuckles and turns over the “closed” sign hanging on the door. 

dragging the stepladder into the back room, jongho looks down at the guitar and the flowers eternally printed into the wood. it’s way more expensive than the broken one stuffed in his closet just by looks alone, but the weight of both instruments feels equally as heavy in his grasp. he remembers how hongjoong’s hands looked when they gracefully move between the string, and how a hint of a grin is consistently present as he created something beautiful with just those. the guitar looked much lighter in hongjoong’s hand than it does his.

he doesn’t fit into this narrative, and as much as he wants to stay in this little block of time (oh god, he’s attached), he really shouldn’t. if jongho could be honest, finding hongjoong is like finding a flower in a desert, even if it was hongjoong that found him really. and when hongjoong found him, he punched him full force with his golden smiles and wise eyes, and jongho, a dehydrated soul with nothing else to lose, fell in love with the little bit of life he encountered.

the next thing he knows, he’s standing in front of hongjoong with a freshly washed shirt and pants with his backpack slung over one shoulder and a guitar case on the other. 

surprise lights up in hongjoong's eyes from behind the counter as his gaze sweeps up and down jongho’s figure, and a worm of uneasiness begins to crawl in jongho’s stomach.

“you’re…where are you going?” hongjoong’s tone is gently teasing, but a pang shakes jongho’s ribs as he finds a speckle of hurt and confusion in hongjoong’s eyes. “you still have a whole work day i need to pay you for.”

“i— i, eum.” jongho hates the way his voice falters as he confronts the idea of leaving again, especially with hongjoong’s joke-but-not-really hanging in the heavy air between them. “i need…to leave. i’m really sorry.”

“ah.”

there's silence between them before a woman walks in and the bell above the door rings. hongjoong greets her with a chipper “welcome in!” and a professional smile pasted on, and jongho already misses the one that might have appeared if he hadn’t been so damn selfish.

“thank you for everything,” he forces out as he bows down deeply, his forehead barely missing the edge of the counter as he does so. “i’m sorry.”

he almost wants to laugh, because he doesn't know why he’s saying sorry for leaving. if anything, he’s getting the hell out of hongjoong’s hair and probably sparing him from having to feed another mouth, but somehow, hongjoong’s face only holds a crestfallen expression with a hint of disappointment that hurt more even when jongho had grown accustomed to it.

“you don’t have to go, you know that right?” hongjoong says softly, his eyes moving away and looking over the register as the lady that came in comes up to the counter with a small stack of cds in hand.

jongho moves to the side and watches hongjoong deftly greets the customer and makes small talk while his hands bag her purchases. his eyes didn’t disappear even as his lips turned up between sentences.

“have a nice day!” hongjoong calls out as the lady leaves with a gentle wave and a pleasant smile.

“i need to go,” jongho whispers just as hongjoong’s hand drops back down heavily.

“look,” hongjoong sighs as he leans against the counter. “i hate to say it, but you really grew on me, jjong. i don’t know what’s going on, but you could…stay here you know? i can protect you.”

jongho almost wants to smile at the confession, and he almost did. he couldn’t deny a new foreign feeling entering his body as he once again blushes out of embarrassment. hongjoong looks worried, and he briefly wonders if he’d ever saw anyone show this level of concern for his well being.

“it’s really ok,” jongho murmurs quietly as an idea slips into his head.

a disappointed sigh leaves hongjoong’s lips, and jongho tenses involuntarily, fists clenching against his side and head bowing down.  _ he’s disappointed in you, good job. _ is the first thought that comes to mind, followed by:  _ man, you really know how to fuck up your relationships huh. _

he knew just as much, but somehow this hurt more than anything.

“you better call me then.” a phone number is slapped down in front of him.

that’s not what he expected.

“i thought you said this was a no-strings-attached kind of relationship,” he asks, letting a little bit of relief bleed into his voice. 

“well, i—” 

this time it’s hongjoong that becomes flustered, his eyes widening as his mouth opening and closing without forming any words.

“unfortunately for you, i want to keep this string attached too.” jongho manages to look hongjoong in the eye as he pockets the hastily scrawled number on the back of a receipt. “i promise you’ll see me again, and choi jongho always keeps his promises.”

a swell of pride surges in his chest when hongjoong barks out a laugh.

“you’re a special one, kid.”

“as are you, old man.”

“i’m only twenty one!” hongjoong complains, but his smile is back on his face. “get outta here, you’re holding up the line.”

jongho feels his lips quirk up a small bit as hongjoong waves him away, and he stretches a hand out, which hongjoong grabs firmly and squeezes.

with that, jongho manages to peel himself away and walk to the front of the glass door. he peers out into the street, which seems to be teeming with cars and people now, and he turns, taking in the music store and hongjoong one last time.

“you’ve got everything it takes, jjong.” hongjoong smiles his golden smile once more as the sun slants onto his face. “run forward, and the world will follow after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me if you’d like @bloominghwas

**Author's Note:**

> follow me and be my friend :D @bloominghwas


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